Things That Bang

It was exactly one in the night and I finished reading a love letter Temple Stark had on his site. He critiqued the letter and I caught a glimpse of a man trying to untangle the mind of a woman he was involved with sometime in the past.

It isn't his letter (though it was quite interesting) that I am here talking about the need for us writers to pen our lives down. The need to share our lives with those who read us. There is some sort of kinship that we form with our silent readers. Initially I did think the letter was kind of personal but then remembered that most of my life lies open on my personal site as well.

Its in the blood of writers - take V.S Naipaul for example. He wrote a memoir about his turbulent life, his need for women, visits to prostitues and all this while his poor wife was still alive and worse still- dying of cancer.

It was a scandal. The book became a bestseller and his wife died. To the world it was a confirmation that V.S Naipaul was a self absorbed SOB but it wasn't money that drove him to write about his life. It was the need to let the sun pour on his darkened soul that made him carry out such an extraordinary act.

It is a catharsis that we are addicted to- lay it all out. Turn our insides out for all to read. We become the characters of our own writings. But there are always consequences. At least in my life there have been consequences for what I write and what I believe.

And like any other writer despite my trying to plug it my emotions have always run amok on my site. Its a writer's bane. Writing is an obsession I prize as dearly as my loved ones but rarely is my passion understood by those who aren't in love with living through the written words.

I cannot speak for Temple, V.S Naipaul or countless others who share bits and pieces of themselves with the world but one thing is for sure it does take courage to lay oneself open and its a gift  few are willing to share.